The Peanut Butter Theorem
by The Sincerities
Summary: AU. She thinks nothing of it but she knows she's in love with a fantasy. — Naruto/Sakura.


28 December 2011

the peanut butter theorem  
>: <em>her voice of adieux <em>

* * *

><p><em>Autumn, she claims, is her favorite season. She doesn't quite know why but it is.<em>

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

She's five when she's first enrolled into the academy. She's five and one quarter through her first year the lunch break the little blonde boy in her class, the loudmouthed troublemaker, walks up to her as she unwraps the bento box in her lap.

She can't help but notice the bright pools of azure blinking down at her.

"Mind if I sit here?" he says as he points to the patch of grassland beside her.

Her classmates might think oddly of her—_more than she already thinks they do_—and they might ask her why she's hanging around the orphaned kid but she nods anyway.

So he sits beside her and slaps a faded handkerchief, checkered and orange, in front of him.

As he unfolds the corners, she watches him reveal a layered sandwich. He then chooses to upturn his head at her with a grin ( a very nice, wide grin, she notes ) and she flinches, chopsticks neatly in hand.

"Wanna piece?"

A normal classmate would make a face and shake their head at the mediocre offer, instead choosing to turn back to their still-warm bento from home, but she stops, thinks, and nods anyway.

She watches him lift the sandwich from its handkerchief before ripping it in two. He hands one slice to her, unaffected by the crumbs trickling onto the grass.

The bento box now sits by her side replaced by a sandwich half, chopsticks stacked above it.

"Together on my count, okay?" He takes his half in both hands, inches away from his mouth.

She stares back at him, curious but in agreement.

On his signal, they take a bite.

Her reaction is just as his: Eyes closed, cheeks round and full, mouth in a content little smile.

Peanut butter and banana, a perfect balance.

When the first bell chimes, he springs up and looks back at her with his empty handkerchief crumpled in one hand. She's still gathering her uneaten lunch when he speaks out to her.

"I'll see you back in class, yeah?"

He gives her one more glance before he runs off.

She never got to ask his name.

.

* * *

><p><em>She's always had a reoccurring dream, one that's not always vivid but one that she loves and doesn't mind getting.<em>

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

She's five when she gets to wait by the playground for her mother to come for her. She's five and two quarters through her first year when the little blonde boy from class—the one who shared his lunch with her—finds her by the swing set one afternoon, alone.

She's swaying gently on the set that creaks the least, her delicate fingers wrapped lazily on the rusty chains, when she can't help but notice a small figure watching from his spot around a pole, his torso wrapped around it for support.

He begins walking toward her, stops, and points to the spare beside her.

"Mind if I join?"

Their classmates would have frowned and gotten up but she nods anyway.

So he sits and begins shifting his weight and kicking his legs. He decides to turn his head at her with his grin and she flinches.

"Wanna see who can swing the highest?"

This time she smiles. She smiles and she nods.

Together they begin swaying back and forth, soon enough to move in unison. With each kick, they go higher, and as the sky grows closer to their noses, they laugh.

He turns to her once more, eyes the brightest, lightest tone of blue she's ever seen, and he yells out to her: "You have a pretty smile!"

Suddenly the weight in her stomach tumbles and she grows a faded pink on her cheeks but she keeps on laughing.

Her mother arrives ten minutes after the sun grows orange and she's reaching the tanbark when he jumps and lands in a crouch. He turns to look at her over his shoulder before speaking out to her.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

She doesn't get to ask his name.

_. _

* * *

><p><em>She has it once a year, just when the new batch of academy students roll into their first weeks of school.<em>

* * *

><p>.<p>

She's six when she begins to enjoy her days at the academy. She's six and three quarters through her first year when she realizes that the little blonde boy from class isn't what her classmates say he is.

She's returning back into the classroom for a forgotten notebook when she finds him stretching over the chalkboard, blackboard eraser in hand.

With her notebook stashed safely in her knapsack, she walks back toward the entrance and stops to look back at him. He decides to glance in return and he stops, now turned fully in her direction, grinning.

"Wanna help me?"

Their classmates would easily refuse to help a bad apple like him but she nods anyway.

He hands her the spare eraser and together they scrub at the dusty stains left from earlier in the day.

"Ne, how do you spell your name?" he asks when she moves a bit of chalk from her path along the rim.

She smiles and sketches out the letters for him.

He sounds out each consonant and vowel as it appears before fully pronouncing the product.

"Sakura," he says, suddenly turning to her with his wide, wide grin. "Sakura-chan . . . can I call you Sakura-chan?"

She nods, and as she's about to ask his name in return, they hear footsteps.

Their sensei walks in soon after he hurries her out with her knapsack just in time.

She still doesn't get to ask his name.

.

* * *

><p><em>It's a bittersweet dream but she enjoys it, regardless.<em>

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

She's six when she claims that her first year at the academy is her favorite. She's six and four quarters past her first year when she and the little blonde boy from class decide to spend their last day wandering the village ( after everyone is released, of course ).

She's watching the ducks by the port when he walks up to her with a Popsicle in hand, grin brighter than ever.

"Wanna share?"

She can't help but crinkle the corners of her pretty jade eyes as she smiles and nods. She doesn't care what her classmates would do.

So he follows by handing her the second of two Popsicle sticks and they snap it into a symmetrical double.

"It's my favorite," he tells her as they take a bite of their halves together.

She's laughing when she can't help but notice him staring at her with his blue, blue eyes.

They close as he grins the biggest grin she swears she's ever seen take over his smile.

"I want to run away with you, just you and me."

He laughs along with her and they forget the meaning of time.

The sun begins to set when she walks herself home, entranced by his silly words. She smiles to herself because she knows she's looking forward to her second year.

.

* * *

><p><em>It's a long dream, one that's always the same.<em>

* * *

><p>.<p>

She's six the year she arrives to her new classroom, ready for a new and better year. She's six and not even one day past her second year when she's told that the little blonde boy from class is gone.

He moved before she could even ask his name.

.

* * *

><p><em>She thinks nothing of it but she knows she's in love with a fantasy.<em>

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

She's graduating the year her very first sensei pulls her aside to the play area as parents and friends bustle with sashes and flowers. She's graduating and ready to begin her future when he hands her something in her pretty, pretty hands—feminine and lovely.

"He told me to give it to you when you were at your happiest."

He turns and leaves her standing by the swing set, rosy locks, short and sweet, swaying around her as she scans the faded orange checkers on a ratty little handkerchief folded small in her palm.

She unfolds the corners to reveal a torn sheet of scroll parchment.

_To Sakura-chan._

Her heart stops as she reads over the messy content.

_I want to run away with you, just you and me._

_Together._

_From, Naruto._

She's reading over the little scrawl when she can't help but notice the figure watching from his spot on a pole, arms wrapped around it for support, grinning with eyes the brightest, lightest shade of blue she's ever claimed to have seen.

She swears she's never had memories panel through her so vividly.

_Peanut butter and banana._

_Swing sets and blackboards._

_Popsicles and sunsets._

All he does is grin. He grins his wide, wide grin.

"Really?" she finally whispers, cheeks powdered in trails of rosebud pink.

With one tiny little nod they're five again in one small, supernova second.

Just the two of them, together.

.

* * *

><p><em>Naruto.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Credit for _Naruto_ belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.


End file.
